


In the Event That We Do Adopt

by gigantic



Category: Popslash
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-25
Updated: 2003-12-25
Packaged: 2018-11-01 03:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10913412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: Pretend they've always been this useless, and things will be all right.





	In the Event That We Do Adopt

**Author's Note:**

> For Stacy.
> 
> Written for the 2003 DWNOGA Secret Santa.

**i.**

"--know, count to ten," Justin says. He laughs. 

Nick rolls over to snatch the phone off the base, presses an ear to the receiver and cuts off the speakerphone. He walks across the room to open a bottom drawer and lifts a couple t-shirts to poke through plastic baggies. 

"Look," he says, pauses to clear his throat. "I need you to come get this shit and bring it with you tomorrow morning." 

Justin coughs. "The whole fucking stash? What am I gonna do with that much pot in my bag?" 

"We'll sell some of it." 

"To who?" 

"Justin, shit. To Steven, to Britney -- what the fuck does it matter?" he replaces the shirts and closes the drawer. 

Justin sighs. "Fine, fine. Hold on, I'm on my way." 

  
  


**ii.**

It's one of those days where they're so bored after second period that they leave early. They walk out of the gate at the side of the school grounds, and the guards aren't paying close attention today -- they stroll right out. 

See, Nick knows this guy, some putz working at a bar downtown. He babbles a lot about women and has bogus lectures on the female disposition and how sex is the be all, end all (which that, at least, they don't disagree with, but they don't care so much about the multiple philosophies on the female psyche). He gives them free drinks though and lets them into VIP no questions asked, so they deal with it. 

Justin asks, "Did you fuck him?" 

Nicks replies, "Have you seen a photo?" 

And that's that. 

They get a little tipsy one night there. A little tipsy becomes really fucking drunk in terms of Nick, and Justin follows him out into the back where he pukes down the side of the trash. That's the plan anyway, and the truth is that Justin's high on some stuff neither one of them remembers bringing so Justin moves slower than usual, and it's all sort of funny when it shouldn't be really. Nick is stumbling and rushing to find a good place to purge when he sort of ends up crashing into/falling all around this guy and thinking (hoping he's saying out loud), "I'm fucked up, I know. Look, hey. Sorry, okay?" The guy ends up helping him find the nearest exit. Then Nick pukes but on the guy's shoes. And he's really sorry about that -- so fucking sorry. 

Finally, Justin stops being an asshole and makes his way outside. He kneels over Nick, rubs his neck, and thanks the guy who is surprisingly not too put out by the disgusting state of his shoes. 

"Thanks, man," Justin's saying, and Nick just dry heaves now. "He's not too good with holding his liquor." 

"I guess," the guy says. 

"Good thing you were there." 

The guy looks around frantically for a few moments, says, "I was actually looking for the bathroom." 

"Maybe," Justin pauses for dramatic (high, momentary lapse) effect, "this is it." 

"It's -- I really. I hope not," but five minutes later the guy unzips his fly and goes behind a dumpster. After he shakes off and zips up, he says, "I might feel a little bad about that if a bathroom pops up." 

"Desperate times," Justin says. 

Nick wipes his mouth with his sleeve. He says, "Thanks," which could be for the guy or for Justin. Maybe they both take a little credit. 

"You're pretty wasted, huh?" the guy asks. 

Justin says, "Hell, _I'm_ pretty wasted." 

Seconds, minutes -- time passes. The guy taps his shoe on the ground rhythmically. Nick is busy mouthing to himself that he will not throw up again. Not not not -- ok. Ok, yeah, he is. He coils and chokes a bit. 

"Hmm," the guy says. "He doesn't look too good." 

"No shit," Justin says. "Hey, um. Er, what's your name, man?" 

The guy huffs, blows air out sharply as he watches Nick. When Nick sits up, the guy frowns, his mouth creasing and he fists a hand in his hair. "Uhm, uh -- sorry. Patrick -- is he gonna be alright?" 

"What, this guy? It's not like he has puke on his expensive Puccinis or anything. He'll be fine." 

Nick says, "I'm not fine." 

"You're fine." 

Patrick glances down at his shoes and frowns more. He grits his teeth. 

"'M sorry about that, by the way," Nick says. He's so sorry and so fucking sick right now. He thinks he might want to leave. "I'm not fine." 

Justin pats Nick's back. "Trust me, man. Trust me. Pat -- I'm gonna call you Pat, okay? -- Pat, you have wheels, don't you? I mean, your shoes. You look like a guy with a vehicle for getting around. You're not a walker wearing those shoes." 

"Justin, you're drunk. We're drunk." 

Justin nods, smiles. "I am. It's true. Fucking like, fucking...and Pat over there has a car, I'm sure." 

Patrick takes a little buttering up. Justin does a few more minutes of dumpster small chat, and Patrick eventually offers to take them across town to this party he was getting ready to head over to once Justin says their currents location is dull. Patrick says, "It's a thing a friend of mine is throwing. But maybe you're friend doesn't want to drink anymore once we're there. You know, prior events and all." 

They go to this party, and Nick loses track of Justin and Patrick almost immediately. Nick does himself a favor and has a coke sans alcohol. The party is happening in some decked out penthouse apartment, which Nick takes a few minutes to marvel at, mouth open slightly. He trips over one of the low glass tables in the living room area and his stomach lurches. He still feels minorly queasy and thinks it best he lie down somewhere, anywhere. 

The nearest couch is already half occupied, but Nick doesn't think, just moves. He stretches out, leaning heavily against the guy sitting there, saying, "Let me be here, just, let me, um," and he pauses, looking for words, "desperate times." 

"Whoa! Whoa," the guy exclaims, raising his drink away from the commotion. Nick slips his own onto a table next to them and burrows his head into leather cushions as much as possible. "Are you okay?" 

"I don't -- I'm not trying to attack you, I swear," Nick says. 

"No, hey," the guy says. Nick can partly see his face, the amiable smile playing across his mouth. He can hear the mirth in his voice, mixed with maybe some panic or something. He was caught off guard. 

"Should I, do you want me to move?" 

"No!" Nick clutches the guy's arm. "No, if you move -- honestly, I might puke. Just -- I promise not to bite your neck or anything. Promise. You're good, I'm good. We're good; don't move at all." And the guy stays there, albeit awkwardly and over-cautious about shifting in his seat. Nick thinks, for a moment, that the situation isn't ideal, but he's encountered worse meetings. 

"JC," the guy says, suddenly. 

Nick turns his head, his hair brushing against leather and then crisp shirt. He cracks an eye open. 

"What?" 

"I'm JC." 

Nick sighs, flutters his eyelids. "Nick. I," he says, breathes in, "am Nick." 

"Nice to meet you, Nick." 

Patting a hand on JC's leg, Nick says, "Likewise, man. Likewise. Thanks, by the way." 

JC laughs. "No problem." 

Nick falls asleep sometime after that. He wakes up again when a disposable camera is tossed onto his stomach. Justin is hovering over him. He kneels and he pushes his mouth in close so that Nick can hear him clearly. 

He whispers, "So, our good friend Patrick? His real name is Chris. Inner-city paper pushers throw the best parties, I swear." 

Nick groans. 

Justin asks, "You ready to go or what?" 

All that means is that Justin's been laid and is ready go himself. Nick rubs his face. He looks around him and somehow JC's slipped away. 

"Yeah," Nick says, huskily. "Yeah, let's go." 

  
  


**iii.**

"Camel is a horrible cigarette," Nick says. He pulls on it and some ashes fall on the sheet thrown over his chest. "The worst fucking smoke." 

From the floor, Justin raises a fist and uncurls his middle finger. Nick grins, giggles. Justin can't see the smile. 

Justin says, "Dude, seriously? Fuck you. It's called 'they had about five brands, three I never heard of, and we do _not_ smoke Virginia Slims,' no way." 

Nick sidles along the bed on his back until he can toe the back of Justin's head. Justin slaps at his foot. He says, "Nick, stop. I'm reading Penthouse here." 

"That magazine is shit. These cigarettes are shit, you're shit, and it's called 'find another fucking store if the cigarettes suck.'" Nick rolls off the bed, palm and knees hitting the brown carpeting. He crawls around the side of the bed and props himself against the corner, the frame poking into the small of his back awkwardly. Justin shifts so that Nick has a better view of flat, glossy tits and ass. The girl on the page must have on about 10 pounds of make-up, but Nick is probably the only guy in the world who's looking at her face. 

"She looks about forty-five," he says. 

Justin shrugs. "But she's got a nice ass." 

"Whatever." 

The toilet flushes and water runs from the faucet. Nick looks around as Jessica (her name is Jessica) comes out of the bathroom and sits down on the bed to put her sneakers on. She has jet-black hair, but when he had his hand was fisted in it earlier, he noticed that the blonde roots were starting to show. Jessica's the kind of girl who rebels by trying to blend in. 

"What are you two arguing about?" she asks. She lifts a foot to the mattress in order to tie a shoe. 

Justin tosses the magazine onto the bed. Says, "I think Nick's trying to convince me that a pretty face is better than a pretty ass." 

"Not when the clothes are off, Nicky baby. Everybody knows that." She takes a moment to appraise the open magazine and goes back to focusing on her blue and white Chucks. 

Standing up, in all his naked glory, Justin says, "My parents won't be home until like midnight, I promise." 

"I know," Jessica says. She leans forward in order to see her face in the mirror past him. She may be making sure she's gotten all the smeared lipstick off her lips. She has. "It's not like -- I mean, I've got things to do anyway. Pharrell's got this rehearsal tonight he wants me to be there for." 

Nick cuts in. "There's a show tonight?" 

"Some tiny club thirty minutes up north," she says. She throws a hand around in the air dismissively before falling onto all fours and scanning the floor for something. "You guys can show up if you want. They're only doing half a set though." 

Nick spots her purse under a chair and makes a move to get it. Small, brown, innocuous -- it doesn't look like it'd fit more than money and identification. He holds it up, shaking it a little as indication. Jessica grabs it, opens it up and digs out a stick of gum. 

"Thanks," she says. "So, you guys think you'll show up? I mean, it's a minor gig. I'm not even sure if he's getting paid because it's for a friend or relative or some guy he owes money. You know how that goes." 

Jessica leaves without any formal goodbyes. She told Nick once that formalities just waste a lot of time and that goodbyes are never anything but sad, so she just sort of gets out of places to save herself the trouble. 

He barely manages to thank her for going with Justin to get the smokes and porn because she's older and can run those types of errands for them. Justin and Nick aren't legal yet, but they've got enough friends whom are that they rarely notice or have to. 

Later, Nick finds Jessica's hair tie under a pillow as he's looking for his cell on Justin's bed, and Justin just tosses it into a drawer along with other things people have left. Some of the people they meet and bring with them don't ever come back once they've been brought all the way home, but it doesn't mean their things won't be waiting for them if they do decide to. 

  
  


**iv.**

The club Pharrell and Chad's band plays that night is called The Red Room. Nick hangs near the stage most of the time, and whenever they're in these kinds of places, he loses Justin in the crowd. Nick takes random pictures of people touching on the walls and the edge of the dance floor. The place is lit dimly, so they probably won't come out at all, but he tries. 

Justin actually finds Nick and introduces him to JC, but they've already met. 

"Really? How?" Justin asks, yelling over the music. 

Nick moves his mouth to Justin's ear and shouts anyway. "The other night at that party. You know, the one that guy Chris brought us to." 

"He's here with me tonight actually," JC cuts in. "He's sort of my boss." 

Justin looks impressed. "You're friends with your boss?" 

"He's a cool guy," JC says. "He's my supervisor at this advertising agency." 

"So you're an ad man?" Nick asks. 

"Sort of. Only to pay the bills." And here Justin excuses himself from the conversation, heading over to some girl standing against a wall. 

Nick moves in closer to hear JC. "What else do you do?" 

"Uh, right now?" JC's eyes keep drifting to what Justin is doing. Nick looks over and Justin's speaking to the girl, bending in close to her face. "I do some go-for stuff for this studio, but they let me get free time afterhours. I'm trying to be a producer." 

"You have to start somewhere, right?" Nick says. 

"Right," JC says. He points to where Justin is. "Does he do that regularly?" 

"Justin? Yeah. Apparently, Justin has some kind of 'game.'" Nick stands up, leans over the table. His face hovers just in front of JC's. "He'll get real close, sweet talks people a little bit. And it's sort of corny, a lot of it. I've heard it before, but. They always seem to go for him." 

JC says, "Maybe it's his voice," and he's looking up at Nick. 

Nick shrugs. "Maybe." 

"So, his routine really works?" 

Nick glances at Justin, who's kissing on the girl's neck and practically feeling her up in full view. "Well, sure," Nick says, facing JC again. He kisses him and JC responds. Nick sits back in his seat again after. He says, "Justin's good at what he does." 

Then Jessica comes up to the table and Nick introduces them. She chats with him for a few minutes. While he isn't paying attention, Nick uses Justin's disposable camera to snap a picture of JC's fingers on a shot glass, condensation shining around the tips. 

  
  


**v.**

Jane decides to get on Nick's case that morning about being out until the wee hours all the time, so Nick is late in meeting Justin at the theatre. 

"You bring cash?" Justin asks. 

Nick pulls out the money he took from his mother's purse (for pissing him off, naturally). "I've got us covered." 

They see some comedy that turns out to be incredibly boring. Halfway through, Justin leans over to whisper, "Good thing your mom paid for this." 

He easily drops his hand into Nick's lap and unbuttons his jeans. Nick closes his eyes and rests on the wall behind their chairs. The only other people in the theatre are seven rows ahead. Justin takes out Nick's dick and gives him a handjob, eyes on the big screen while he works every time Nick glances right. He twists his hand around on the upstroke and Nick stamps a heel into the floor. Justin's a pro. 

They go to this music store afterwards and wait around smoking cigarettes until this guy Bryan's shift ends. Nick and Justin never go into the store while he's on the clock, because he gives them shit all the time, but they like to stand outside and make crude gestures at him through the window. 

Bryan hates them because he found out Justin was selling his sister, Britney, drugs and screwing her, too, at one point. Britney failed her sophomore year because she was high and oversexed, according to her brother. If that's the case, then Justin and Nick have the same problem, but nobody tries to beat up the people they sleep with because of it. 

Nowadays, Nick screws Britney sometimes, but mostly because Bryan stopped Justin. They have a sort of Series of Britney photos, a collection. She's become their little pornographic starlet. 

"Bryan!" Justin says brightly as Bryan comes out of the shop and gets into his car. 

"Dipshit!" Bryan says, with just as much feigned jollity. All is right with the world. 

They head inside minutes later and spend a few hours in the shop playing instruments. Bryan might hate them, but the storeowner, AJ, thinks Justin and Nick are psychotic and awesome for it. They can never afford new gear, but AJ lets them have jam sessions whenever because it helps him make sales. 

After they leave the music shop, the two of them head over to Pharrell and Chad's place. They hang there until around eleven in the evening, laughing and smoking in their garage. Nick does a couple of drums solos and they sound like something a toddler banging on pans would produce because he's high, but, luckily, everyone else is, too. 

Chad suggests they take the party to a club. Justin is all for it, but Nick thinks he'd rather not hear his mother two mornings in a row, so he figures he'll appease her for one night. He waits a half-hour or so for the smell of marijuana to vanish some and gets into the house by midnight. 

  
  


**vi.**

As Nick makes a left turn, his hip buzzes. He grits his teeth and focuses on the road, hoping it isn't some sort of emergency. When they stop at a gas station so his driving instructor, Lou, can get some coffee and a donut, Nick checks his voicemail. It's some chick that says her name is Christina and she wants Nick to stop by a certain address she recites demurely. She ends the message, speaking in a soft, breathy voice and going on about how she needs him right now. And in the background, before the playback disconnects, Nick hears Justin's distinct laugh so he figures -- why the hell not? 

It's a quaint little building, a couple private-owned shops with a loft on top. Nick parks out front and walks around the side to see if he can find a way up without going into either of the stores. A guy stands on the fire escape in a deep blue bathrobe. He stubs a cigarette on the railing and flicks it to the ground just as Nick calls for his attention. 

"Do I know you?" the guy asks. 

Nick chuckles a little. "No, uh. No, I don't think we've met. I'm looking for a Christina?" 

"She works the boutique at the front, but I don't know. She might be out for lunch." The guy's cigarette narrowly misses Nick's head. It lands pathetically at the toe of his sneaker. He raises an eyebrow thoughtfully and then asks, "You wouldn't be a relative of hers, would you?" 

"What? No, um," and Nick feels a little foolish now because he has no idea how to explain this, "I'm looking for my friend Justin, actually." 

"Oh! You mean the kid JC brought home -- yeah, yeah. He's up here. You're not the best friend he told me about, are you? What's your name again?" 

"Nick--" 

"--right, yeah." The guy turns to lean through a window and yells inside. "Justin! J, your friend's here." He looks back to Nick, says, "I'm Lance, by the way. Sorry about being all--when you first walked up I thought you might've been this one girl's boyfriend and then, you know, a relative of Chrissy's and--" 

"Nick!" Justin climbs out of the window to stand with Lance. He's wearing nothing but his boxers and some socks. He has a joint tucked in between his lips, so when he says Nick's name it sounds compact and carefully urgent. Taking it between thumb and forefinger he uses the full range of his jaw. "Dude. Come up; it's fucking freezing out here." 

The loft over the shop is spacious and still mostly empty. There's a sofa and a rug in the middle of the room, a kitchen area off to the side. Two doors on opposite ends of the room probably lead to bedrooms, Nick figures. There aren't any coverings on the windows. 

"It's sort of a work in progress," Lance calls from the kitchen area. The stereo is on and he's trying to be heard over Marvin Gaye's ad libs. 

"I love this place," Justin says, flopping down next to Nick. He takes a moment to pull from the joint and passes it. He exhales slowly and waits for Nick to take a drag. "It's spacious and they have condoms in almost every cabinet or drawer you open. It's good, right? And Lance is, like, an ultimate dealer or some shit. He only has choice supplies." 

Sometime during Al Green singing about love and happiness JC emerges from one of the bedrooms. Nick is buzzed at that point. He listens carefully as Justin finishes some rousing theory relating cheese and the mob, and when JC greets him it's the funniest thing Nick has ever heard. He pulls up the scarf he wore over and coughs into it. 

JC asks, "Hey, is it really cold outside?" 

Nick, now lying down with his head at Justin's feet, nods from his place as Justin says, "It's fucking _glacial_ ," and stretches out the last word. 

"Oh yeah?" 

"Definitely." Justin nods faintly, eyelids drifting shut. JC tips forward and covers his mouth, quick lips and Nick's watching them from an upward angle. He tilts his head back more to see their faces better. He feels Justin's toes graze his scalp and doesn't think to care, but Justin's turning his mouth from JC's, saying, "Mm, sorry, sorry," in between occupying it in other ways. 

Nick feels detached from the scene even though he's right there. He watches JC's face mostly, his eyelashes and follows some imagined line down the side of his body until Nick's examining the press of fingers into Justin's neck. At one point, as JC's pushing his hand across Justin's stomach -- lower, lower -- Justin curves his back and moves to kiss Nick. He cups the underside of Nick's chin with one hand; the other on his cheek and Nick feels Justin's breath on his face before it happens. He lets Justin kiss him. He kisses back, body alert to JC buzzing somewhere nearby, and then there's third hand in his hair and Nick suddenly feels like too much a part of what's happening. 

He kicks a leg over the arm of the couch, plants the other into the floor and manages to slowly ease himself away. Farther, farther until Justin relents, and Nick leaves through the front door without looking back. Down the stairs there's a door directly in front of him and one to his left, which he takes into the shop. 

It's a vintage store, rack upon rack of inexpensive clothing. Nick looks through some jackets with little interest and catches sight of a girl bent over a counter near the front. He moves to a rack of t-shirts, rooting through them swiftly. His skin itches almost imperceptibly and Nick is bristling for reasons he can't explain. 

"People buy this shit?" Nick says aloud. 

The girl, and this must be Christina, he thinks, doesn't flinch or look up at him. She's writing something down. "Screw you." 

"No, I like it. Dig in your closets and sell the thrift you bought accidentally. It's a sweet deal--" 

She raises her head and taps a pen against the counter. "Are you trying to be annoying?" 

It's fucking boiling in this shop, he thinks. The heat is up too high or something and, maybe, okay. He's pissed because of the conditions in this shop, that's what is, but -- Nick doesn't realize he's taking out his irrational frustrations on Christina (this must be Christina; it sounds like the same chick from the voicemail) until he already has. 

He shakes his head, says, "Sorry, uh. I'm just in a fucked-up mood." 

She stares at him for a moment, appraises him. "Of course," she says and looks to her pen and paper. 

Nick shifts on the thin carpeting of the shop. He's managed to leave his shoes upstairs somehow, though he doesn't particularly remember taking them off. He pictures them thrown somewhere near the couch, pictures JC's bare feet close to them and Justin on the couch, and he can still almost feel the ghost of hands under his jaw, on his face, in his hair and Justin's soft mouth across his. Nick could probably be having sex right now. He blinks and clears his throat. 

"You know," he begins, tentatively, "I bet my mom has some stuff you could sell. True vintage crap she bought and never touched again. Authentic moth-eaten look and everything." 

Christina raises an eyebrow. "Do I know you?" 

He thinks briefly about telling some lie about them meeting and fucking at a random Christmas party last year. Instead, he pulls his cellphone from a pocket. "I think you left me a message this morning?" 

"Ah. You're Nick?" 

"Most days, yeah." 

Christina laughs. "Well, Nick. You know the saying: one man's trash..." 

Nick nods. "Right. One man's trash is another man's if he can find someone dopey enough to buy it." 

"Funny," Christina says. "How old are you?" 

"Illegal." 

"Right." 

"I'm seventeen; a grown-ass man in January." 

Christina hops onto the counter and throws her legs over the front. "Senior in high school?" 

"In theory? It's a possibility. Technically, no." Nick moves away from the rack he's been holding onto to stand in front of her. 

"What does that mean, exactly?" 

"It means I'm a professional junior, and the days I do bother to show up to class I'm generally just killing time." 

Twenty minutes into the conversation, Nick stops feeling frustrated and starts feeling anxious. He's not trying to take advantage of anyone, but Christina's pretty and not too long ago Nick could have been having sex. He watches the side of her face and wonders when JC and Justin will finish. He needs to get his shoes. 

"So, what's your story?" He asks. "You don't really look like you buy your own liquor, you know?" 

Christina shrugs, folds some sweaters and lines them on a table neatly. She's had two sales since Nick walked in. "I was emancipated about a year ago. It's no big deal. I stay with a friend of mine down the street or upstairs with JC and Lance some nights. Whatever." 

"Emancipated, huh?" 

And it turns out that Christina's shop belonged to one of her mother's estranged cousins whom Christina looked up once she was on her own. The cousin turned it over to Christina when she and her boyfriend decided they wanted to start a life in Nevada or somewhere, Christina isn't even sure yet. Her family is a gigantic, convoluted mess, and Nick suddenly thinks he might need to go home at some point during the day. He probably has dishes he needs to clean, laundry to wash. He needs to check on his brothers and sisters. And smoke. He needs another cigarette, too. 

  
  


**vii.**

Eight long days and then Christina bites Nick's shoulder in her kitchen. Her friend Alecia, the one she lives with, is taking a shower in another room. Christina bites Nick while he's sucking the juice from tart lemon slices. She sinks her teeth into his skin outside of his t-shirt and scratches short, chipped nails across his stomach, grazing flesh behind cotton there. 

They have sex on the kitchen floor. Nick has his palms pressed flat to cool tile and with every kiss, he tastes remnants fresh and sour fruit. 

Alecia comes in while Nick has Christina under him, wrapped in a bath towel. She goes through a cabinet or two and bends down on hands and knees when she doesn't find what she's looking for up top. She asks Christina if there is anymore drain cleaner, calmly like Nick isn't fucking her roommate just then. Christina pants, scrunches her eyes and shakes her head. 

"We're out of everything," she says, huffs. 

Alecia kisses her forehead, thanks her. Christina laughs breathily, arches unexpectedly and Nick comes with his mouth pressed to her chin, watching Alecia's lips on slick skin. 

  
  


**viii.**

What Nick finds out is that Alecia is a chain smoker, but she won't smoke in the apartment because Christina doesn't. "Sometimes I will, every once in a while -- socially," Christina explains. She basically quit on her own a year or so ago because it was, as she calls it, "an annoying habit. I needed not to be throwing every penny I came by into a pack-a-day addiction." 

He hangs around their place for the rest of the weekend, laughing and smoking out on the balcony with Alecia. During one session, after Alecia taps some ashes over the side of the railing, she bends down to tug on her fishnet stockings. 

She says, "You're cute. The last time Chris had boyfriend, she was twelve." 

"I can't imagine her having a hard time with guys." 

Pink gives and slips the stockings off, holding her cigarette in the fingers of her right hand and trying to work the fishnets off with her left. She pauses to smirk at Nick. 

"The implication was not that she had troubles," she explained. "She just took a break from dating boys in particular." 

Nick rubs the heel of his hand over his scalp. "And she decided this at twelve?" 

"Chris has always been a few years ahead of everyone else." 

Smoking, relaxing, and he only screws Christina one other time. He never sleeps with Alecia, though she makes out with him a little after he helps her dye her hair purple Sunday night just before he leaves. And Nick actually goes to school all of the following week. 

Justin makes an appearance during fourth period one day. He sits in the back of the class and falls asleep ten minutes into the lesson. Nick sits on the other side of the room and only gets bored enough to throw crumpled sheets of paper at Justin's bowed head twice. 

At lunch, Britney gives Justin the lunch her mother made for her because she and Joey have decided that Joey will help sneak her off campus for food. Justin picks apart a turkey sandwich on wheat bread in between going on to Nick about how great JC is. He tells him about the time they spent jamming in one of the studios after-hours. 

"Dude, I think -- we're probably going back tonight. You know what? Blow off the rest of the day and let's head over there now. JC's there already and this engineer, Kevin, he's fucking awesome, he'll let us chill," Justin says. 

Nick analyzes the bench he's stretched his legs over, the pavement beyond that. Christina would probably appreciate it if he brought some Chinese to her after school. "No, um. I think I'll just go home, man. Sleep or something. This school bullshit is no joke." 

Justin drinks the bottle of juice that goes with the sandwich and stuffs the little bag of chips in his coat pocket. "This isn't because of the other day, is it? You're not freaked about that, right?" 

"What -- no! Fuck no, of course not. I'm tired, you know? Can't I be fucking tired?" 

Shrugging, Justin says, "I'm just saying, you bailed pretty quick. And I mean, it's not like we've never -- whatever. I just wanted to make sure things were cool still." 

"I'm good; I'm good. But I have this paper and I want to sleep, and. No, we're good, I promise," Nick concludes. He's nodding fervently. 

Justin looks around for a moment, pushes Nick around the corner and behind the building so that they aren't seen. He kisses him, licking softly at his lips as he pulls away and smiles. 

"You just want to fuck Christina again," Justin says. He reaches down to squeeze Nick's dick through his pants quickly, suggestively. 

"What --" 

"Nick, she works below JC and Lance. We talk, she likes you -- it's cool." Justin presses close to Nick. He says, "She's hot," and kisses him another time. "So, yeah, see her tonight, but you're coming to the studio with me soon, fucker." 

"Like half the reason you're going isn't so you can try to screw your new boyfriend on a DAT board," Nick quips. 

"He's not my -- fuck you, man," Justin thumps Nick's shoulder. 

Once more kiss, damp lips against Nick's own and all Nick can think about is JC's mouth and how not too long ago it was probably doing exactly what Nick is doing. Justin rubs him through his pants gently. Nick gasps, Justin grins, and he's afraid that all he'll see when he touches Justin anymore is JC. He'll think of JC, of him and Justin together, of JC's fingers in his hair. 

Not too long after Justin's gone, Nick ditches his last few classes anyway. He goes to his house and jerks off while no one's home, then takes a nap until his brother wakes him up for dinner. 

Saturday, Nick has two rolls of film developed. From there he heads over to Christina's in order to make good on the plan he devised days earlier, and they have lunch at some Mongolian place. Nick gets back home relatively early, coming through the front door and not a window for a change. 

It seems Justin's newest sighting was in Nick's bedroom; he must have dropped by while Nick was out, because there is a set of photos on his bed. He folds back the flap and they're all JC and Justin, hands, arms, feet, and shoulders. On the back of one shot -- Justin's hand on smooth stomach -- it reads: _wish you were here_ in permanent red marker, because Justin's a dork. Nick tacks that one on a poster board on the sliding door of his closet where he keeps all of his favorites and slips the rest in his sock drawer. 

  
  


**ix.**

The show is at a different club this time but just as far away from his house. Justin isn't answering his cell, so Nick calls Britney. She turns onto his block fifteen minutes later, and he meets her at the corner. Jane asks him where he's going as he leaves through the kitchen. He ignores her. 

"Thanks, Brit," he says as he slips into the front seat. 

She lowers the radio volume. "Shut up, Carter. I'm not doing this for you." 

Britney holds out her hand and pops the gum in her mouth. Nick stares at her and digs in his pants pocket. He shakes the dime bag and gives it to her. 

"Ah, right. All about your hook up," Nick says. 

Britney leans over to kiss his cheek. She pulls back and smiles. She isn't wearing makeup today, her hair pulled back in a messy, bleached-golden ponytail. Britney is actually very pretty. Her dirty brown roots are starting to show and Nick thinks he'd like to bury his face in them while he fucks her on his mom's precious dining room table. Maybe photograph her body at an angle, top of the head and down over the rest of her until the tips of her toes collide with blurred air and background. 

"Business first," she declares. Nick sits back in his seat, and she turns up the radio. 

They sit with Jessica at the club, whom Britney doesn't know but that doesn't really matter to either girl. Nick watches them chat cordially. Britney is probably a little buzzed from smoking on the way up and changes the subject often. Nick watches them and decides that Jessica is attractive in all the ways Britney isn't and wonders what it would take to get them both to come home with him. 

Pharrell sings a set of songs Nick knows the words to after seeing so many performances. Towards the finale though, he introduces a new one, and Nick thinks it must be during this song that he starts losing track of what is happening around him. Pharrell sings, "I'm only killing myself a little, baby," Nick pushes his eyes across the table, and Jessica has disappeared. 

Nick moves to the front, hanging out just off the stage. He drinks and watches all the bands that perform a set. He loses Britney after some emo guys who call themselves something that includes a girls' name takes the microphone. Around midnight he tries to find Britney, remembering her saying she would be with Pharrell and Chad, but he gives up when he still hasn't seen her forty minutes later. 

"Fuck," he mutters, leaning against a wall. Justin still isn't answering his cell, and no one is picking up at his Justin's home. Nick dials another number. 

The phone rings, clicks. "Hello?" 

"Don't hate me, all right? I just -- I'm sorry --," Nick says. 

"What? Wait, who is this?" 

"I, uh. I need a ride." Nick's trying not to panic or anything, but it's harder to stay cool when he's tired and tipsy. He digs around on his back pockets, looking for cigarettes, pot -- he needs to occupy himself so all of his attention isn't on the phone call or how hopelessly stranded he is. 

"Please, I mean, Justin ain't home and my fucking ride bailed or some shit --" 

"Nick --?" 

"-- Fuck! Yeah, uh. Yeah, look, sorry about this --" 

"No, it's. Don't worry about it. Sit tight, I'll come and get you," JC says. He doesn't sound like he was asleep, but that could mean Nick just startled him awake. "Okay, gimme the address..." 

By the time JC gets to the place Nick is slumped against a brick wall, arms wrapped tightly around his own torso. JC gets out of the car and Nick watches shoes move toward him until JC squats and they're face to face. He tips Nick's chin up, stares at him, catching his eyes. 

JC says, "Justin isn't at my place if that's what you were thinking." 

The lights from the entrance wash his hair in reds and oranges like he's dipped his head in paint. He breathes, and it is cold enough tonight that his breaths puff out in neon-bathed torrents. Nick shrugs. 

"Are you cold?" JC takes off his gloves and jacket, rests them on Nick's folded knees. 

Nick pulls the gloves on slowly, slightly numb in the fingers. "Are you kidding?" 

JC's car smells of its owner. He's even got some deodorant and cologne tossed onto the backseat along with a bag of McDonald's trash. He clears some tapes and CDs from the front seat to make room. JC keeps a jazz station on, playing softly around them as he drives. Nick dozes off just as they're climbing an on-ramp. 

He wakes as JC tries to help him out of the car. Nick stops him, pushes his hand away noncommittally. 

He says, "I'm fine; I got it." 

"You sure?" JC asks. 

"I'm fine." 

Nick stands up, rubbing the gloves over his face for warmth. He rolls his eyes to focus himself and sees the notice declaring parking only for Christina's boutique. 

"This isn't my house," Nick says, mind whirling a bit, and maybe he did manage to drink a little more than considered tipsy. 

JC stands next to him. He moves his arm around Nick to pull encouragingly closer. Nick tips sideways, leaning onto an inviting shoulder. He isn't quite aware of how he makes it up the stairs without giving in and sleeping on a step, but he does remember being deposited onto a mattress before nodding off. 

In the morning he smells bacon and eggs, hears the sizzling of a pan and fades in and out of sound sleep for what seems like hours. He's lying on his stomach, sort of halfway dreaming about nonsense until one thing melts into another and then melts into Christina, then Justin and when Nick hears someone whispering his name, he rolls over with a smile on his face. 

"Nick." The whisper comes from above his head. 

Nick blinks a few times, sees JC's face vaguely through squinted eyes, and lifts his head enough to kiss him. JC gasps into the kiss, taken aback and Nick gives into impulse for a few moments until JC pushes at his shoulder gently. He drops his head into the pillows. 

Nick says, "I'm --" 

JC says, "I made food." 

The tension swells and dies. JC leaves the room. 

He isn't in the living room or the kitchen area minutes later when Nick comes from the bedroom. Nick turns on the faucet and proceeds to rinse his mouth, gargling and spitting into the disposal several times. He then washes his hands, dripping dish soap onto his palms and lathering them. As he's rinsing his fingers in warm water he feels other fingers rake up his shirt and push into his skin. He hesitates, water falling over wrists and mouth open some. 

"Turn around," JC murmurs. He's breathing the words rather than saying them, and Nick weakly tries and fails to shut off the faucet with some unnecessary caution. 

JC's hand slides to the button of Nick's pants, unbuttoning the front with a deft ease and dragging the zipper down as well. Pressing back into Nick's waist, JC urges him around so that they're facing each other. 

"What about your roommate?" Nick asks. 

"He's not here." 

Nick licks his slips, swallows. JC kisses him barely, hint of lips touching and then he buries his face in Nick's neck. Nick looks to the ceiling, lower in the kitchen area than the living room. JC sinks to his knees slowly and Nick's eyes flutter shut, hearing focused on the running water behind him and seeing nothing but complete darkness. 

JC's good, really good. Nick has the waist of his pants and boxers tugged down around his thighs. JC can deep throat, and yeah. Yeah, he's great. Nick is resting so heavily on the edge of the counter that his palms burn from the corner stabbing at his flesh. He'll have livid, red imprints there when he finally lets go. 

Smooth strokes of hand and mouth, and then JC does this thing with his tongue. Nick comes and is only distantly aware that JC swallows once he can concentrate more. He thinks temporarily of Justin, wondering if he's turned up at home yet, if he's okay. Nick's skin is sensitive, and the room seems somehow chillier. 

The faucet is still running. 

JC stands, strokes Nick a few more times, leisurely, and then turns him again. Nick bends willingly over the sink. JC pulls a condom out of a drawer, thrown in next to some forks and knives. He fucks Nick with the kitchen window open, and they watch cars stop and go at an intersection. Nick drenches his head with water and gasps, and later he has dents in his forearms that are identical to his palms. 

  
  


**x.**

He spends a lot of time rotating from friend's house to friend's house, sleeping on blanket pallets in living rooms. The times he hangs with JC and Lance late into the night, Nick crashes on their couch. JC and Nick don't have any more sex, really. Nick gives him a blowjob in the bathroom of a used record store one day, but it's more a reciprocal "thank you for before" kind of blow than anything else. JC has one hand on the wall of the stall with the other holding two albums by The Clash on vinyl the whole time, and there's a sheet of toilet paper stuck to Nick's knee as he stands. 

Nick rings Justin cell phone at least three times a day. After leaving a series of messages the first couple days, Nick settles for simply letting the line ring until the machine answers and Justin's recorded voice informs him to "leave your life history." Justin never picks up the calls, and after a week and a half, the personalized message is replaced with an automated one. Nick stops calling. 

"He'll come back," Christina says. Nick is resting his elbows on his knees, and she lays her head on his back. "He wouldn't just leave, right?" 

Except, Justin did just leave. He left without saying one fucking word. 

"He's taken off before," Nick says. He clears his throat. "He was gone for almost two months right after Christmas last year." 

"Why?" 

"He's -- I don't know. Different things set him off. I think before he'd been getting into it with his stepfather pretty much everyday and just got tired of it. But, I mean, Justin's just. He's always talking about how the two of us should disappear and go on some grand hitchhiking tour around the country." 

Christina laughs a little. "He hates it here that much?" 

Nick smiles, says, "No, Justin, he. Justin's just prone to leaving." 

Nick looks at the dirty tips of his shoes, wipes a smudge off with his thumb. Christina breathes calmly next to him, and they relish the silence. The air stays empty without their conversation until Christina asks Nick if he wants to, like, share a smoke or whatever. 

"Yeah. Why not?" 

They smoke the cigarette in silence, and Nick thinks Justin's going to owe him a good three months worth of smokes for ditching him like this. 

  
  


**xi.**

Usually Nick forgets about the final couple weeks of school completely because he already knows his status. But this semester he actually has enough credits to be considered a senior next year, so he takes his brother's bike and gets onto the campus a little after the first bell rings. 

Britney takes the seat next to him in first period. 

Nick says, "I don't have any pot on me today." 

"You know what? You can kiss my ass," she says, shoving the desk closer to his. "I wouldn't try to score in the middle of class." 

"You sure?" 

She gives him the finger. Britney opens her purse and pulls out some makeup -- lipstick, eyeliner, eye shadow, and blush. Nick watches her arrange it all on her desk neatly before going through the motions of applying it. 

She uses a hair-tie to pull her hair out of her face. Glancing at Nick while she does so, she asks, "Where's your partner in crime?" 

Nick huffs. "Jail. He was tagged trying to sell some guy blow." 

Britney starts with the blush, opens the case and a brush. She sucks her cheeks in so that she looks like a fish. Nick smirks. Finishing that up, she says, "Who knew you guys sold more than marijuana?" 

"We don't. It was an attempt at expanding our horizons." Nick finds a pen on the floor and grabs it, twirls on his desk for amusement. 

"Bad business decision?" 

"Obviously," Nick says. 

Britney applies her lipstick, blots on some travel-pack tissues in her purse. Nick thinks about smearing it with his mouth. She says, "I don't believe you." 

"That's too bad," he tells her. He yawns, arches over the back of his chair. 

Leaning over the sidebar of her desk, she places a hand on his stomach and strokes the skin there. 

"Come to my house after school," she suggests, and her voice isn't coy but conversational, like she's inviting him over to watch rented videos. 

Nick reaches out and takes her hair down. He ruffles it with his hands a little, wondering how she would look with some outrageous dye job. He's almost positive he could convince her to let Alecia dye it hot pink. 

Britney adds, "My mom just bought this new camera..." 

And Nick says, "Sure." 

After school, Nick uses two rolls of film on Britney while he's at her house, and the first roll is of her with her clothes on. By the time he starts the second roll, she's in the t-shirt she wore to class and some boys' briefs. 

Over and fucked, Britney washes her hands and makes them some sandwiches while Nick disposes of the condom. They clean the island counter in the kitchen and watch music videos on the television in the corner while they eat, Britney wearing her t-shirt and Nick's boxers and Nick going commando in his dingy fatigue bottoms. Nick hasn't eaten anything all day. He finishes his first sandwich as Britney is still daintily pulling the crusts off of both of hers. 

She eats the food just as carefully, and she places the sandwich back on her plate when she notices Nick staring. She clears her throat, says, " I think I get it. You two had a lovers' spat." 

Nick rolls his eyes. "Sure, Brit." 

"No? You stole his girl then," and Britney has to giggle at the absurdity of that. "Whatever. I will figure it out." 

"How about you just leave it alone?" 

The television eliminates the threat of any silence between their sentences. Nick finishes his food and puts his dish in the sink. 

Britney says, "Fine," and bites into her first sandwich again. 

She offers to let him crash at her house for a while, if he wants. Her parents probably won't notice and Bryan doesn't even stay with them anymore, she tells him, but Nick hadn't planned on being murdered before winter vacation. For a moment, Nick tries to decide on whether he thinks she genuinely wants his company or if she's possibly trying to get free stash. It doesn't matter, he realizes, and leaves out of the back door when Britney's mother and father pull into the driveway. He forgets the rolls of film on his way out, and she tosses them down to him from her bedroom window. 

  
  


**xii.**

Whenever he isn't occupying himself, Nick thinks a lot about calling Justin one more time to tell him about what happened between himself and JC. He opens his own cell several times and dials the number, but ultimately feels it would be better if he told Justin in person. Justin will probably blow it off anyway, but Nick still feels sort of guilty. 

He heads to Pharrell and Chad's Wednesday night in another valiant attempt at not ringing Justin's cell, except it's hard when Justin is usually everywhere Nick frequents. The thing is that during the times Justin takes off, Nick never knows what to do with himself. When Justin ran away last year, he at least warned Nick before he did it. Nick had refused to give into Justin's hysterics and tag along, choosing to spend those two months sleeping and buying cheap used records until Justin got over his own shit and came home. Nick still has the t-shirt Justin gave him the day the met in front of the high for the first time in months. Nick hasn't ever worn the thing. It's red with 'Tallahassee' printed across the chest, and each time he sees it in his drawer or closet Nick thinks about how he doubts Justin really made it that far. 

And for all his internal over-analyzing, Nick doesn't talk about what goes on between he and Justin with too many people. So although Jessica says, decisively, "We need J," she probably doesn't mean it the way Nick processes the words. 

"Yeah," Nick agrees, springs to his feet. He grabs her arm and pulls her toward her car. "Yeah, come with me." 

Jessica lets him drive. She controls the radio, keeps music filtering through the speakers. She plays nice and doesn't question his motives until they stop for gas and road snacks somewhere just outside of the county. 

"Nick. Nicky," she says, hopping onto the hood of the car. She munches Fritos and Nick pumps gas. "Not that I don't trust and love you dearly, but I'm pretty sure we passed Justin's place several cities back." 

Ignoring her, Nick gets into the car and roots around in the glove compartment. He asks, cracking the window and shouting, "You got any cigarettes?" 

Jessica shifts, looks at him pointedly through the windshield. "We're in a gas station." 

"Your point?" 

This far out, everything around them is awkward in its silence. Jessica fogs the windshield with her breaths and Nick thinks about a pamphlet he once read in health. One Hundred Facts About Nicotine Addiction. He really needs a cigarette. 

"Maybe you should take me home," Jessica suggests. 

Nick looks at the highway, the few cars that rush along every five minutes or so. Out into the distance, he can see nothing but darkness and the occasional fading taillight. It's not like he knew where he was going anyway. He starts the car. 

"Fine," he concedes, lifting his leg and slamming the door. "Get in." 

Of course, the car belongs to Jessica. They stop by Nick's house first and Jessica climbs over the stick shift, adjusts the driver's seat a little and leaves. The sun has not yet risen, so there is a good chance it's still probably earlier than five-thirty. Nick isn't even tired. 

He walks around back and climbs onto the roof, easing his way up the side of the house and trying to stay as quiet as possible. Nick climbs into his bedroom window on the way up to grab cigarettes from another jacket pocket. He smokes a couple on the roof, feet dangling over the edge, flicking finished ones off the edge and eventually he dozes off watching stars despite himself. 

In the morning, yells wake him. Aaron shouts, "Mom, Nick is already here!" 

He must see the shoes. Nick's feet feel numb. 

Aaron asks, "You coming down for breakfast?" 

Nick curls his legs in, and Aaron doesn't say anything else. Nick does come down once he assumes they're all eating inside. The postman walks by and he eases his way onto the ground, heads to the mailbox. Bills, bills, and a small square envelope with his first name and address scribbled in the center. It's full of more photos from Justin, some Polaroids of street signs and various other random objects and places -- where he's been. One of the last pictures is of a corner downtown, a building that looks like any of the others but Justin has written the cross streets on the back. 

A shower and at least generally fresh clothing procured, Nick takes the trip downtown that afternoon. It takes an hour and a half on the bus. He doesn't come down here often because there isn't anything for him. The inner city, except for the parties he and Justin sometimes get invited to, consists mainly of business and Nick has none. 

He stands outside of the building for twenty minutes and never gets up the nerve to go inside. He wouldn't have a thing to say if he did, and he's not even sure if his instincts are correct. Nick has no idea if JC might work here; but he likes to think he knows what Justin means most of the time. 

Chris spots Nick as he is heading to catch the light. He's standing on the curb and Chris is coming in the opposite direction. Chris stops, stares, and points at him. 

He says, "Don't I know you?" And Nick thinks about mentioning the double prints of Chris' mouth and hip he and Justin have. He doesn't. "Wait, you're that kid that got intimate with my shoes. You had a friend." 

Nick turns his head, holds his hand to his eyebrows to shade his eyes. "Guilty." 

"Thought so," Chris says. He smirks. "Almost didn't recognize you. You're not wasted." 

"You're not Patrick." There is another picture -- Chris' I.D. card focused in the frame and a blur of face in the background. Nick knows where Chris lives. He doesn't mention this either. 

Chris nods, grins. "I've been found out. Hey, how's your friend, um, Jonathan?" 

"Oh, he's. He's good, considering..." Nick shrugs. He sticks his hands in his pockets and bites his lip. 

"Considering?" Chris prods, carefully. He raises his eyebrows. 

"Ah, HIV testing. The old couple days wait is getting to him," Nick explains. 

"Oh," Chris says. "I guess that isn't too bad; people go through that." 

"Yeah, well, it turns out that J's a slut," Nick says. He exposes as many teeth as possible. 

"Really?" Chris looks amused. 

"The doctors say his lifestyle is high-risk, but I mean. The definition of promiscuity is relative, right?" Nick rocks on his heels, makes air quotations with his fingers. 

"Sure." 

"We're getting a second opinion." 

Chris checks his watch. He looks from it to Nick and back again chuckling. His breaths fan out in the cool air. "I've got to get back," he says, and Nick pretends to be disappointed. "Tell your friend Jonathan I said hi, all right?" 

"Mm," and Nick squints as he smiles, "will do." 

Chris disappears, and Nick pulls the photo out of his pocket. He folds and crumbles it to crack the film. He tosses is into at the bus stop and feels relative good the rest of the day. 

  
  


**xiii.**

The very last day of school, Nick attends for the second couple hours. He has stopped going to see JC and Lance. He also quit going by Christina and Alecia's place because he has no idea what he has with Christina even if Alecia says he's Christina's new boyfriend. He goes to all the gigs Pharrell and Chad book, but other than that he's in the house a little more than usual. 

Aaron was the one who brought that to his attention. Nick had told him to remind their mother that he was eating dinner with them one night. Aaron had said, "Five days in a row? That's a record, Nick," and Nick couldn't figure out if that statement depressed him or not. 

Except for his trip donwtown, he's actually been attending school faithfully. He still does little to nothing in class because it has reached the end of the semester, but he's been in the right place legally. Like today, no class is completing any work unless watching videos counts. Most are at least vaguely educational with the occasional rebellious teacher showing movies produced by noteworthy production studios. 

Nick's algebra two teacher shows The Matrix but writes a fake lesson on matrices on the blackboard just in case an administrator walks into the classroom. Each student is also given a worksheet on the material, and Nick uses the back of his to list thirty reasons why puncturing one of the gas pipes lining the buildings and putting a flame to it might be a fun exercise. 

Britney leans over to scribble something in the sidebar of the page halfway through the film. She writes: _Has boy wonder returned yet?_

Nick finishes reason number twenty-five and then adds: _Why do you care?_

_Because you do._

Nick looks at Britney after he reads her response, but she's watching Carrie Ann Moss shoot agents. He tries to ask her how the hell she would know if he cared, and all Britney says is, "Trinity is kind of hot, right?" She tilts her head and watches the screen from an angle. Nick might kind of hate Britney. 

  
  


**xiv.**

The first thing he notices is Justin sitting at the foot of his bed. Nick can only see the back of his head, but what he can clearly see are Polaroid snapshots and other glossy prints being flung around the room. The fall semester ended five days ago, tomorrow is Christmas and Justin is just suddenly in his room, home from wherever like it's no big deal. He takes exactly three seconds to breathe in, out, and he leaps across the mattress to push Justin off. 

"You dumb fuck!" he says, and Justin yells as he tumbles. Nick hears the thud his body makes hitting the floor and hopes Justin landed on his head. 

Nick lets the comforter fall away from his legs as he crawls closer to the edge and looks over. Justin writhes on the floor, coughs and shoves a hand under his spine. 

"Shit," he gasps, and coughs. "Damnit, Nick." 

"No, fuck you," Nick says. He throws his legs over the side of the bed and straddles Justin's chest, pointing a finger in his face. "Fuck your moods, fuck you for leaving -- fuck you, why the fuck did you leave me here?" 

Justin grapples for a few of the pictures he was holding, tosses them in Nick's face and pushes him back. Justin climbs on top of him now, and holds a few of the photos so Nick can see them clearly. 

"Get off me," Nick demands. 

Justin says, "Look." 

"Justin --" 

"Nick! Look." 

Nick glares at the pictures, thinks he'd like nothing more than to kick Justin's ass. "What? What about them, Justin? I know none of these people." 

Justin flips them so that he can see them. He drops them. Says, "Me neither." 

He lifts himself off of Nick and folds his legs next to him instead. Nick stares at Justin, assesses his messy hair, the ratty t-shirt he probably got from somebody else, and the pants he was wearing the last time Nick saw him. Justin digs dirty nails into the carpeting and chuckles hopelessly. 

"I'm so tired, man," Justin says. He angles his head, so that he's sort of resting his head on the bed with his neck suspended in air. It can't be the most comfortable position. "I -- I panicked, you know?" 

"Like hell you panicked," Nick says. His rage is more a calm fury by now, a pulsing annoyance in the back of his skull. And really, he isn't thinking so much about Justin leaving anymore as much as he's thinking about Justin fucking a shit-load of people while he was gone. Fuck Justin for leaving. Fuck that, and fuck him. 

Justin bolts upright, indignant. "I asked you to come with me!" 

"J, you asked me to go to the studio! Not to disappear from the entire goddamn planet." 

"It wouldn't have been the first time, Nick." 

"Don't do that shit to me. Don't make your issues my fault, all right? You've been gone for weeks -- _weeks_." 

"I flipped out, okay? I spent all that time with JC, you know, and he wasn't seeing anybody else. I hadn't been with anyone since that first night with him and it got to me. It was weird for me, so I went to you. And then you -- you had to say that shit you said, and I freaked. I did go to the studio for a little, but I don't know. I can't even explain why, but it got to me and -- shit. I don't know. I had to get out of here." 

Nick loses his momentum. It is early, and he's still fairly groggy. At this point, if he continues like this he'll give himself a headache and mess up his mood for the entire day. He exhales in one swift release of air, arches off the carpet to crack his spine. 

He gets up, starts to pull on a worn pair of jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt. 

He says, "C'mon." 

Justin wrinkles his nose. "What?" 

"Just come on. Get up; we gotta go somewhere." 

Nick bounds out of his room and down the steps. He takes one of the sets of car keys; the set for the Audi, after making sure his mother isn't awake. In the car, he waits for Justin. 

Fifteen minutes later they're on the other side of town, parking in front of Christina's closed boutique. The digital clock on the radio reads that it's just after six-thirty. 

Justin sits with his hand in his lap. He gazes out the window and towards the upper floor. He says, "I'm not going up there." 

"No, of course not. We're only here to look at the building," Nick retorts. He kills the engine and gets out. 

Lance and JC's loft is the only thing above the store downstairs. They keep a spare key under a welcome mat Lance says his mother gave them as a housewarming gift and these days they keep forgetting to buy a better-looking one. Justin moves up the stairs slowly. Nick is already inside the place, sitting on the sofa by the time Justin makes it to the doorway. 

They chill on the couch for a good hour or so. They don't do much talking, but settle for watching the number of cars and people on the street below increase as time ticks by. Finally, a door creaks, the whines of metal echoing throughout the room. Justin stands immediately and Nick is content to be an onlooker for the time being. 

JC pauses just outside of his bedroom door. His bottom lip twitches a few times as if he's going to speak, but it takes a moment before he manages to say in sleep-laden voice, "Hey." He raises a hand and waves it barely, uncertainly. 

He walks across the room, moves in front of Justin. JC reaches out to touch his shoulder, to massage the flesh there through short-sleeve cotton. Justin closes his eyes, breathes. 

"You're okay," JC says. 

Justin nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry." 

"Don't worry about it." 

And Justin thrusts his head forward to catch JC's lips. He kisses him slowly, smallish pecks that escalate as they find a rhythm. 

Justin whispers, "I like it here; I do," and JC asks, "Yeah?" He cups a hand around the back of Justin's neck. 

"Yeah," Justin says into the warmth of JC's mouth. "Yeah, yes. Yes." 

"Great." 

Nick sits where he is for a few minutes and then thinks of before. He gathers himself and makes a move to leave. Justin catches him, spins and takes Nick's wrist. 

"Stay," Justin says. He kisses Nick, traces Nick's lips with his tongue and Nick acquiesces. He stretches his mouth just enough and Justin slants into him. When Nick begins to withdraw, Justin holds his face, hands flat against each side. 

Nick pleads, "Don't." 

"Please?" Justin asks, and he grins. "Please, Nick." 

Then JC is there. Nick turns his face, Justin lets him, and he meets JC halfway. He's in the moment, relaxing. Someone's hand creeps into his hair. Nick close his eyes, remembering the way JC and Justin looked together before, acknowledging the way they looked just now and thinks, okay. Okay. 

He stays. 

  
  


**xv.**

"You're messing up that cover out here." 

Nick looks behind him, at the edge of the blanket dragging on the tar. It'll be filthy when he walks back inside. He shrugs. "I'll buy them another one." 

"Right," Justin says. He takes the cigarette from Nick's fingers and pulls on it. Puffing out the smoke, he asks, "You cool?" 

Nick kicks his feet, dangling them over the edge of the building. He shrugs again. "I can't do this again. You know that, right?" 

Justin climbs onto the ledge and scoots next to Nick. Nick opens the blanket and drapes it over Justin's shoulders as well. 

"What? It wasn't good?" Justin says, smirking impishly. 

Nick pokes him the side and snatches back the cigarette. "Asshole. No, uh, me and JC -- we kind of slept together while you were all MIA." 

Justin presses his lips together, nods thoughtfully. "He told me; he, uh. He left a message on the cellphone afterward and I didn't care. I was, you know. JC was not my boyfriend, and I got with enough people to fill out a football team, so." 

"I'm sorry, though. I wanted to say that," Nick says. 

"It's cool, man," Justin reassures. 

"You positive?" 

"I said it's all good, Nick, damn." Justin laughs. He pinches Nick's side. "Trust me: we are golden. Now, I don't know about you, but I try not to make a habit of catching pneumonia after sex. How 'bout we bring the heartfelt apologies under the roof?" 

He stubs the cigarette out and flicks it off the roof. Justin stops midway to the door leading downstairs to call Nick over his shoulder. "Oh," he says, "And that whole fucking JC while I'm gone? There's a no repeat policy." 

Nick bursts into laughter, yells, "I thought you couldn't handle the monogamy bit?" 

Justin shrugs. "Who knows?" 

Nick balls up the blanket as best he can and tosses it at Justin. It hits him and falls to the ground, they're both cracking up on the roof wearing nothing but underwear, their cold breaths stream from their mouths as they speak, and things are good. It's not even past noon, and Nick feels things are pretty great. 

  
  


**xvi.**

JC makes breakfast again, but Nick decides not to stick around to eat with them. He packs some of the food up on paper plates wrapped in foil and leaves. He heads over to Christina's house after stopping home first. Luckily his mother had already left for work, so Nick took some time to dig through her closets before he heads out. 

When Christina answers her door, Nick is carrying their food on one arm and layers of retro clothing hanging over the other. 

He says, "So, what made you finally ditch your folks?" 

"I came home from a friend's house one weekend," Christina says, "and found my dad in my bed with some random chick. They'd trashed my room and used a teddy bear my grandmother gave me when I was younger as holder for their beer bottles." 

"Used it as a holder?" 

She sighs, smiles wistfully. "They'd torn his head off and shoved the bottle through his neck." 

Nick bites his lips, lifts his eyebrows, stunned. "So you left over a teddy bear?" 

"I loved that bear," Christina says, grinning fully. 

Nick nods, continues to gnaw his lip. "It's kind of cold out here, you know." 

Narrowing her eyes, Christina asks, "Is this you cleverly hinting that you want to come in?" 

Nick lifts the arms with the food cautiously. He singsongs, "I brought breakfast." 

Christina surveys him a minute, head tilted. She finally answers, saying, "We might be able to make that work," and steps back to widen the entrance.


End file.
